


Enough

by youaremarvelous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Demisexual Yuuri, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremarvelous/pseuds/youaremarvelous
Summary: While training for the Hot Springs on Ice skate-off, Yuuri tries to outrun his anxiety and ends up with an injury.





	

Yuuri doesn’t like to lose.

 

His feet pound the asphalt, lungs growing heavy from each stuttering inhale of frigid, early spring air.

 

He hasn’t run like this in a while—not physically, anyway. Mentally, he’s done nothing _but_ run since his embarrassing performance at the Grand Prix Final. He tries not to dwell on what came after—nights spent curled under the comforter in his single dorm room, sweaty palms clenched in crumb-ridden sheets as he waited for his phone to stop ringing.

 

He had tried to rip up a poster, once. In his mind, that marked the height of his decline. It had been a particularly hard day. Not for any specific reason, the reality of his failure had just loomed too close. He had laid in his bed for hours, breathless and uncomfortable in his skin. The thought of Viktor looming over him, a spectator to his misery—even just existing as a soulless, 2d, mass produced replica—had him feeling exposed and small.

 

Tears welled up in his eyes as he scrambled off the bed, a few stray Skittles loosing from his sheets and clattering across the tile floor. It was embarrassing. He was an embarrassment. And Viktor was there to witness it all.

 

His foot slipped on a candy bar wrapper and he caught himself on the wall, grasping at the nearest poster. Yuuri’s eyes bore into the image—a snapshot from Viktor’s performance at the Grand Prix Final three years ago. His arms floated in the air, his smile conveying a confidence Yuuri couldn’t even dream of imitating, let alone embodying.

 

He dug his fingers into the underside of the poster, scrunching his eyes closed and yanking it forward before he had the chance to second-guess it. The taped corners ripped off dramatically loud in the small room. Yuuri’s knees wobbled and he sunk to the ground, clenching the poster in his white-knuckled grip, his fingernails punching little half moons through the paper.

 

“I’m sorry,” he told Viktor, his bottom lip wobbling so hard he had to bite it. He wanted to say more but his throat was clenched too tight. It was all self-pity, anyway. He didn’t even want to subject a poster to the pathetic criticisms his mind could produce in this state. He swallowed hard, held his breath, and moved his hands to rip the image down the middle.

 

He made it about two inches before his muscles clenched, preventing him from going further. Yuuri squirmed and whined but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let his dreams go. He couldn’t let _Viktor_ go.

 

He gasped and pressed his face into the poster, sobbing so hard he started to gag. Tears soaked into the paper, rippling the surface and ruining it, anyway.

 

Everything was too much. He didn’t know how to make himself feel better. He didn’t know how to let go of everything he had worked his whole life for and rebuild himself from whatever was left over.

  

He wished he could call his Mom.

 

He wished he could skate. He wished he really _wanted_ to skate.

 

 

 

Yuuri shakes his head and tries to ground himself in the present. The air is thick with the smell of ozone and the wind whips across his cheeks with the promise of impending rain. The purpose of his runs is to clear his mind, not burden himself needlessly with events from the past.

 

Things have changed since then. Viktor isn’t just his personal icon, anymore. He’s a man—a man occupying his home, infusing his personal space with the smells of sandalwood and licorice, warming each corner with the ringing of his unrestrained voice.

 

Yuuri slows his pace and stops. His chest heaves as he leans against a guardrail, lungs clenching and forcing him to cough. He closes his eyes and leans into it, pulling air in through his nose and out through his mouth, willing his breathing to regulate.

 

He needs to head back. His legs feel like jelly and the churning clouds threaten an imminent downpour. Yuuri straightens up and rubs his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. He has to regain his strength quickly. Even before Yuri came into the picture, the sense of urgency was there, pressing itself against the back of his throat.

 

The sudden arrival of Viktor was so unexpected—so _miraculous_ —Yuuri can still hardly believe it. He doesn’t intend to waste this opportunity. He can’t let himself relax, to let Viktor grow bored with him and for this weird but not unwelcome dream to end.

 

He doesn’t trust another disappointment not to do irreparable damage.

 

Yuuri takes a deep breath—filling his lungs to capacity before letting the air eke slowly past chapped lips. He rolls his shoulders and begins to run again, heading back towards Yu-Topia. He runs faster this time, making a game of trying to build his endurance by beating the rain.

 

By the time he can see the silhouette of his home in the distance, the rain has advanced from a damp mist to a semi heavy sprinkling. Water droplets dot his glasses, forcing him to constantly wipe them with his sleeve, but Yuuri pushes himself forward—eyes locked on his destination.

 

It’s probably the combination of low visibility and hyper focus that causes Yuuri to miss the pothole in the road. His foot finds it, though. His knee wobbles when his step sinks lower than expected. Yuuri stumbles forward but catches himself with his hands before falling completely. He tries to push through the fumble and keep running, but when his left foot hits the road, a jarring pain travels up his ankle and pulls him to a stop.

 

‘ _This isn’t good_ ,’ he thinks as he hobbles his way to the side of the road and sits heavily in the grass. He pulls up his pants leg and prods at the joint, slowly moving his foot from side to side. It’s starting to swell a little around the ankle, but he can still move it okay—albeit with some discomfort. It’s probably just a light sprain. Nothing serious. He worries his bottom lip and tries not to panic.

 

He starts to limp towards home, concentrating on the pain in an attempt to ignore the fear pulsing behind his temples. This is fine. It’s all fine. He can just do training that doesn’t put weight on his foot. He should be healed in two days, three at the most. No one has to know about his stupidity, least of all Viktor.

 

He pauses at the entrance of Yu-Topia, leaning his back against the wall and swallowing thickly in mental preparation. He can walk normally through this pain. He’s skated through worse.

 

Yuuri clenches his fists into his pants and nods his head once in determination before straightening up and entering the stifling warm confines of his home. He holds his shoulders high and stiff, but his gait is normal. He catches sight of his Russian guests when he passes through the common room. They are planted at a table, watching an old skating performance and commentating in Russian at the screen.

 

“Yuuri! Where have you been?” Viktor waves when he spots him. He stands from the table and wraps an arm around Yuuri’s neck.

 

Yuri waves a hand in front of his face. “Can’t you tell? He reeks of sweat,” he complains, scrunching up his nose for emphasis.

 

Yuuri blushes and ducks out of Viktor’s grasp. “Ah, sorry. I’ll go bathe.”

 

“Excellent!” Viktor calls after him. “I’ll join you.”

 

Yuuri freezes and takes a sharp breath. Viktor has no sense of personal space. If they bathe together, he’ll undoubtedly see his ankle. “Uh, o-on second thought, I think I’ll just bathe in the morning.”

 

Yuri’s lip curls in disgust and Viktor’s shoulders wilt with a frown. “In the morning? Don’t be silly, Yuuri. It’s unhealthy to sleep soaked in sweat.” He closes the distance between them, standing with his nose only inches from Yuuri’s as he peers searchingly at his face. “Are you feeling okay?”

 

“F-fine!” Yuuri jumps back, landing on his bad ankle with a hiss.

 

Viktor tilts his head, eyebrows drawn together. “Hmm? Are you hurt somewhere?”

 

“N-no.” Yuuri shakes his head vigorously. “I just—I have a stitch in my side. From running after eating.” He laughs lamely, his smile not reaching his eyes.

 

Yuri clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Figures.”

 

“Be that as it may—“ Viktor squints and presses his lips together—“I don’t think you should be going to bed without bathing. Meet me in the bath in ten minutes, okay?” He softens his expression and smiles.

 

Yuuri opens his mouth to argue but Viktor tilts his chin up, his eyebrows moving towards his hairline. “Coach’s orders, yeah?” The smile remains but is somehow icier around the edges, projecting an ominous atmosphere that leaves no room for argument.

 

A shiver runs up Yuuri’s spine, raising the hair at the back of his neck. “O-okay. Ten minutes. Yes!” He stutters, his head bobbing up and down in short increments.

 

He speed walks away on locked knees till he is out of sight, then hobbles as fast as possible towards the bath. He yanks his clothes off and shoves them in a basket, not bothering to fold them before rocketing himself to the nearest bathing station and dousing himself in cold water.

 

Strangers blink wide-eyed as he vigorously scrubs at his body, but he ignores them. Embarrassment is a far-flung concept. He just needs to be in the onsen before Viktor arrives.

 

Somehow, he manages to wash the last of the soap away without hearing so much as an echo of his coach’s lilting voice. He grabs his modesty towel and stumbles down the steps into the hot water, plopping himself so hard against the edge that the water ripples out around him. He sits there—chest heaving—for a good five minutes before Viktor arrives.

 

“Yuuri!” Viktor smiles when he spots him. The dim onsen lights glisten across his still-damp skin and he sighs contentedly as he slips himself into the steaming water. “To think you grew up with this.” He moves next to Yuuri, sitting so close their shoulders touch. “Russia could learn from the Japanese about the virtues of a relaxing bath.” He looks to Yuuri for confirmation, then knits his eyebrows and touches his student’s cheek. “You’re flushed, have you been waiting long?”

 

“No!” Yuuri starts, the strength of his proclamation startling Viktor into removing his hand. Yuuri traces his cheek where Viktor’s fingers had been and shakes his head. “I mean—no. I just got here.”

 

Viktor nods slowly and stretches his arms over his head. “Relax, Yuuri. How do you expect to move your audience if you never let go of that tension?” He drops a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder and kneads his thumb into his neck.

 

Yuuri stiffens under his touch and keeps his eyes facing forward. Viktor slips a hand under Yuuri’s elbow, gently turning his body so he can massage both his shoulders. He pushes his fingers into the nape of Yuuri’s neck, brushing the ends of his soft hair before pulling his hands back down, trailing them over Yuuri’s shoulders and along the length of his biceps. “Relax,” he reminds. “Relax.”

 

Yuuri tries. He wants nothing more than to follow Viktor’s orders, but if the heart-racing anxiety of being massaged by his childhood idol isn’t enough, the white hot pulsing in his ankle does the job in tipping him over the edge of calm. Yuuri grew up at the hot springs and it’s been nearly two decades since he was reckless enough to pass out in them, but he fears today might break his record.

 

Not even the cold, misting rain is enough to cool him, and soon Yuuri starts to feel nauseated, his head dizzy from the heat. “Vi-Viktor.” He manages, licking his dry lips. “I think I need to sit out for a second.”

 

Viktor pauses his massage and peers around to survey Yuuri’s face. “You _are_ looking quite pale,” he says, pressing the back of his hand to Yuuri’s cheek. “Do you need help?”

 

“Nn,” Yuuri replies. He tries to shake his head but the edges of his vision are darkening and Viktor ends up slipping an arm around his shoulders and under his knees and hoisting him up, anyway. It’s only till his body has been lifted out of the water that Yuuri realizes his secret is about to be exposed. He tries to struggle but Viktor holds tight, not fully releasing him until he has been dressed in a light robe, carried to his room, and laid across the bed.

 

Makkachin licks his cheek while Viktor loosens his robe, pulling it apart so his chest is exposed. A cool cloth touches his cheek and is swiped across his forehead and down his neck. It’s too cold. Yuuri wants to push it away, but his limbs feel weighted to the bed and won’t obey him.

 

“What kind of idiot passes out from a bath?” Yuuri hears the words but he can’t make sense of them. They are aqueous and disjointed as though spoken to him through two feet of water.

 

Viktor folds the washcloth over Yuuri’s forehead and lightly touches his swollen ankle. “Yurio, go and fetch an ice pack.”

 

“It’s ‘Yuri’!” He snaps but goes without further argument.

 

Viktor smiles at his back. “With that kind of attitude, how do you ever intend to embody agape, Yurio?”

 

“I said it’s ‘Yuri’!” The boy’s booming voice echoes from down the hall.

 

Viktor chuckles and turns back to Yuuri. He gently moves his foot back and forth, pleased at the mobility it still has despite the swelling. “Yuuri, does this hurt?” Yuuri opens his eyes only slightly and shakes his head. The cold washcloth slips from his forehead and falls to the pillow and Viktor replaces it without comment. “Can you try and wiggle your toes for me?”

 

Yuuri does so with considerable effort, though his struggle is due more to the combined aftereffects of over exercising and heat exhaustion than actual pain.

 

Viktor pats him on the knee. “Very good,” he says, sounding genuinely pleased.

 

The praise sends even more heat to Yuuri’s head and for a moment he fears he might pass out again.    

 

“Yuuri.” Viktor peers into his face. “You’re becoming flushed again. Shall I open the window?” He pulls at Yuuri’s sleeve. “Or perhaps you would be more comfortable nude.”

 

“N-no!” Yuuri’s eyes snap fully open and he pushes himself up on his elbows. The world spins only momentarily before settling into the shape of Viktor’s concerned face. “Not nud—I—I’m fine. I’m feeling much better.” He pants, swiping at a bead of sweat that trails from his dampened hairline to his jaw.

 

Viktor sits back down at the end of the bed and rubs Yuuri’s calf. “If you’re sure.” He doesn’t mention that he’s already seen him fully naked, but Yuuri is sure that he’s thinking it. “Did you fall on the way to the bath?”

 

Yuuri pulls his robe up on his shoulder and shakes his head.

 

“Then what happe—“ Viktor is cut off when Yuri plods back into the room, smacking open the door so hard it thumps against the wall.

 

“Here,” he grumbles, tossing an ice pack and compression wrap on the bed. “For the guy dumb enough to mess up his ankle before a competition. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you.” He folds his arms in front of his chest, leveling Yuuri with a glare.

 

“Ah, wonderful!” Viktor smiles and picks up the ice pack. “Yurio, I need a pillow to elevate his ankle.”

 

Yuri looks like he wants to argue, but instead he rolls his eyes to the ceiling and stomps to the head of the bed, wrenching out a pillow from behind Yuuri’s back without so much as an apology before holding the stolen item out to Viktor.

 

Viktor takes the pillow and pats Yuuri’s knee, silently encouraging him to raise his leg. “What a great help you’ve been,” he says sweetly. “Now why don’t you run along and take your bath. You’ll need to go to bed early so you’re in top form for practice tomorrow.”

 

A rebuttal waits in the tension of Yuri's crossed arms, but instead of fighting, he sniffs hard and drops his fists to his sides—clearly relieved that his lessons won’t be postponed due to Yuuri’s injury. “I hate washing in those dirty public baths.” He grumbles, turning on his heel to leave.

 

“Take care not to stay in too long.” Viktor calls after him, winking at Yuuri.

 

Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek and dips his chin to his chest in shame.

 

“Do you not trust me, Yuuri?” Viktor asks when he is sure they are alone. His face is placid and unreadable as he adjusts the pillow under Yuuri’s leg—carefully covering his ankle with the newly procured ice pack.  

 

Yuuri’s heart jumps in his chest and his forehead wrinkles with fear. “I do!” He insists—whether to himself or Viktor, he isn’t entirely sure.

 

“Had I known your ankle was injured, I never would’ve insisted you enter the hot springs. Heat is bad on a new sprain, as I’m sure you know.” Viktor’s gaze is still on Yuuri’s ankle, his eyes surveying the purpling skin.

 

Yuuri deflates, his shoulders sagging. “I do.” He repeats, his delivery more sullen.

 

“A coach and their student’s relationship is based in mutual trust. Do you not agree?”

 

Yuuri stares into his lap, clenching his fists into his light robe. “But,” he barely whispers, biting his lip hard before looking up at Viktor. “If I can’t skate, you’ll leave.”

 

Viktor blinks and squints as if trying to work something out in his head. “Of course, I will.” He says simply. “What would be the point of coaching you if you can’t skate?”

 

Yuuri feels his eyes water and he holds his breath to prevent tears from falling. “That’s—“ he chokes and clears his voice to try again. “Right. Of course.”

 

Viktor tilts his head, his robe slipping down his shoulder. “Is that upsetting to you?”

 

A warm teardrop escapes and drips off the end of Yuuri’s nose. “I—“ he chews his lip, searching for the words. “I don’t know.”

 

Viktor stands wordlessly and moves from the end of the bed to the head, settling in next to Yuuri and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “This isn’t a career ending injury.” He tells him, threading his fingers through his hair. “You’ll be back in the rink in a matter of days.”

 

“Days that Yurio will spend practicing.” Yuuri sniffs, swiping at his wet eyes with his wrist.

 

“Are you willing to give up so easily?” Viktor asks, rubbing his hand up and down Yuuri’s back.

 

Yuuri’s eyes widen and he shakes his head hard.

 

“Good,” Viktor smiles. “As both of your coach, I must remain impartial,” he says, combing Yuuri’s hair behind his ear. “But I believe in you, Yuuri. I know you can do it if you set your mind to it because you love skating. Don’t you?”

 

“Y-yes!” Yuuri snaps his chin up, the affirmation tumbling so quickly from his tongue, he doesn’t have time to examine its truthfulness.

 

Viktor chuckles, sliding his hand over Yuuri’s and squeezing it. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

 

The concept is completely alien to Yuuri. “Why is that?” He asks before he can convince himself not to.

 

“Yuuri, if you’re doing what you love, how could you possibly lose?”

 

“I—“ Yuuri tries to reply but the words are stuck in his throat. It’s such a simple concept, one he’s heard many times before. But somehow now, it actually _mean_ s something to him. He tilts his head down, unsure how to respond.

 

Viktor leans forward and presses a kiss into Yuuri’s temple. “Make sure to remove the ice pack after twenty minutes,” he tells him before whistling at Makkachin to follow him out.

 

Yuuri jerks back, slapping a hand where Viktor’s lips had been—eyes wide and unblinking at the opposite wall.

 

Viktor pauses in the threshold, hand rested against the doorjamb. “Oh, and Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri inhales sharply and turns to Viktor, eyebrows drawn to his hairline in anticipation.

 

"Could I take a picture of your ankle for instagram?"

 

"What?" Yuuri jerks his head back so hard it thumps against the headboard.

 

Viktor tilts his head back and laughs uproariously. "Only joking," he promises, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “I just wanted to tell you—“ he tilts his head, silver hair falling across half his face and curving against his jawline. “The video is what brought me here, but you’re the reason I’ve stayed.“

 

Yuuri puffs his chest out in surprise, his shoulders jumping up to his ears. “Th-thank you.”

 

Viktor huffs out a slight laugh and his eyes soften with an emotion that looks startlingly close to affection. “Sleep well.” Viktor waves a hand over his shoulder. “I still expect you at the rink at seven am sharp, don't think you get to take it easy just because your ankle is out of commission.”

 

“I’ll be there!” Yuuri calls after him. Viktor’s laugh bounces off the walls and Yuuri slumps back into his pillows, holding his hand over his chest. His heart beats madly, pumping him full of adrenaline and making it impossible to settle down for the night.

 

In many ways, he is much the same person he was a year ago when he cried over his losses in a bathroom stall. Viktor still inspires anxiety but the feeling is different. This anxiety is not fatal—it is emblematic of new beginnings, of pushing into uncharted territory and discovering parts of him he was previously too scared to explore, let alone acknowledge.  

 

Yuuri doesn’t like to lose, whether to his competitors, the media, or his own mind. The losses don’t have to be so important, though. They don’t have to outweigh the joy of skating. They don’t have to outweigh the feeling of Viktor’s hand on his.

 

Yuuri cups his overheated cheeks in his hands, smiling despite himself, and for the first time in a long time, he really _really_ wants to skate.

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the quickest things I've written in recent memory. It was one of those "I can't find what I want to read so I'll write it myself" scenarios. Yuuri is very clearly depressed at the beginning of the series and I wanted to explore that a little. I also needed some h/c because it's my jam, along with some slow burn because that, too, is my jam. I will continue to hc my favorite characters as existing on the ace spectrum, I am always good for that. 
> 
> I am super dee duper lazy about editing and for that I apologize. I'll come by and try to do a better job in the next few days. 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading and if you want to stop by and chat with me about gay skaters, feel free to hmu on tumblr @ youremarvelous. Thanks loves <3


End file.
